


Washington’s on Your Side ((What-Ifs)

by oH_goD_iTS_hEr_AgAIn



Category: Hamilton - Fandom
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-07
Updated: 2019-09-07
Packaged: 2020-10-11 21:40:16
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,699
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20553107
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/oH_goD_iTS_hEr_AgAIn/pseuds/oH_goD_iTS_hEr_AgAIn
Summary: ((Sequel to "I was just like you when I was younger". Professor Washington continues to worry about his non-stop supervisee Alexander Hamilton, particularly when his closest friend Laurens is badly injured. Hurt/comfort university AU, feat. Alex "More Stressed and In Need of Hugs and Support Than Ever" Hamilton, George "Accidental Chauffeur and Squad Dad" Washington, and the rest of the Revolutionary Boys being adorable.Series))Edit: I don’t know how to make stuff in italic or bold bc I’m new to ao3 sooo just nite this isn’t 100% my writingThats’s the original summary by the original story writer. Since I’m a sucker for angst, I decided that i’ll Write a version of this story buuuuutttt I changed things up a bit. Things that I wrote are in italic and things the original creator wrote arenin normal font. Enjoy! Oh, also their handle is @hamiltonneedshugs





	Washington’s on Your Side ((What-Ifs)

**Author's Note:**

> Y’all, right before we get this started, just saying, you should probably read the first part of this series by @hamiltonneedshugs

Washington made sure to keep an eye on the student newspaper for the referendum results, and sure enough, on Wednesday morning the front page was emblazoned with the announcement that the student union had won its independence from the NUS. A photograph of Hamilton and his victorious team was the main focus. And Hamilton himself was centre stage - sitting balanced precariously on John Laurens’ shoulders, apparently screaming himself hoarse in triumph, face alight with fervour, and mid celebratory fist-pump. Inside there was also a picture of him standing on a podium shouting and giving the finger to a group of the ‘Stay’ campaigners, but Washington counted it as a victory that no fist-fights were reported.

He took the front page home to show Martha, who laughed and affectionately perched it on the mantelpiece for a week or so. He also sent Hamilton an officially neutral but obviously congratulatory email, to which Hamilton responded with much delight (and also with a long rant about some extra reading he’d been doing).

Washington struggled to keep himself from worrying, but after a few weeks with no incident, began to hope that the worst was over. Maybe he’d got through to Hamilton, or maybe his deadlines just happened to be a bit more forgiving, but things seemed to be looking up. Hamilton’s emails continued to be coherent and enthusiastic, he seemed to be looking well when Washington occasionally passed him in the department corridor, and he was even on time to one of their meetings. He did very apologetically decline Washington's next invitation over to dinner due to the elections for the new committee of the Politics Society, but they rescheduled for in the new year.

The afternoon prior to the meal, however, at about five, Washington received a text.

Hi alex hamilton here. really sorry but won’t be able to make it tonight

Washington frowned, disappointed. Hamilton had seemed genuinely contrite when he hadn’t been able to make dinner last time - this seemed remarkably abrupt in comparison. Short notice, as well. He’d been really looking forward to the evening, and he knew Martha had too (if only for the opportunity to tease the two of them).

He hit “reply”, and then paused. Odd, also, that Hamilton hadn’t emailed. Most of their conversations took place via email, presumably because it gave Hamilton a greater opportunity to write more. He tended to be glued to his laptop rather than his phone whenever Washington had caught sight of him in the library.

A cold feeling was gnawing at Washington’s stomach. Something was wrong. Something was very wrong.

He closed the text, and selected to call Hamilton instead.

The call rang out. There was no option to leave a voicemail.

He exhaled slowly and tried to fight what he was trying to convince himself was irrational panic. Hamilton was almost certainly fine (after all, he had texted). It was probably nothing.

His phone buzzed in his hand with an incoming call, and he picked it up immediately. “Hello?”

“Hello?” Hamilton said, and the tremble in his voice was immediately apparent. Washington found that he had stood up quickly out of his chair without even thinking about it.

“Alexander? Are you all right?”

“I’m… I’m sorry about tonight, I can’t make it,” Hamilton said, and he sounded wrong, his voice was too quiet, there was a barely controlled high note in it, and Washington could hear his breathing shuddering through the speaker. His fingers clenched tighter on his phone in concern.

“Alex, I’m not worried about that, what’s happened? Can you speak?”

“Yeah, yeah, I… Oh God,” Hamilton’s voice cracked, and he let out a single sob. Washington grabbed his coat blindly from the door and started shrugging it on, feeling for his keys in the pocket.

“What is it? Do you need help? Where are you?”

“I’m at…” A cough. “I’m at the hospital…”

Washington forced himself to remain silent to let Hamilton speak, though his heart was hammering in his chest. He tried to rationalise that if Hamilton had managed to text, he was presumably OK. He hammered the volume control on the side of the phone so he could hear him properly. Washington drove as fast as he could to the hospital, cursing at the traffic he kept getting stuck in (though he used one standstill at some traffic lights to quickly text Martha to let her know what was going on). He felt rather sick, and he couldn’t even begin to imagine how Hamilton was feeling. He was already imagining what the hell he could possibly do if his friend didn’t make it. There wasn’t any comfort he would be able to give then (indeed there was precious little he could do now). He knew how close Hamilton and John were; this was going to be devastating either way.

He made it to the hospital in just over fifteen minutes, but then had to find a parking spot, which was easier said than done. Once he’d parked up, he tried to call Hamilton again, but he didn’t pick up. Fighting that growing feeling of foreboding once more, he chucked a few quid in the parking machine, threw the ticket on to his dashboard and set off at a run to the main A&E entrance.

His heart was hammering the whole time. At any moment he could turn the corner and see his so- is student.deep down in his mind, a thought seemed to be forming on its own accord, like a storm brewing, waiting for the perfect time to strike. Like lightning, the thought reached him. Washington didn’t know if he could handle seeing Hamilton like that; so grief stricken, despairing and suchBut he fought it down. No need to worry myself further, he thought. 

As he rounded the next corner he immediately saw Hamilton, even in the rapidly-darkening twilight. He was standing a little way outside the automatic doors, barely supporting himself with one arm propped up against the wall. His clothes were looking oddly… patchy, and it took a moment for the stomach-churning revelation that they were covered in blood to hit Washington. Next to him was the tall, well-dressed French exchange student whom Washington had been briefly introduced to in the corridor as Lafayette. Hamilton was an absolute mess - as he drew closer Washington could see that the bloodstains also extended to his hands and face. He forced himself to slow to a slightly more dignified jog as he approached.

"What did they say?" Lafayette was asking frantically. “How long will he be in theatre?”

Hamilton shook his head almost groggily, glanced up, and saw Washington. To say his face broke into relief would be an exaggeration, but his tense expression eased very slightly. His face was blotchy and damp, tears still fresh in his eyes. Lafayette followed Hamilton's stare and turned his head.

"Professor?" Lafayette asked in confusion. "What are you...?"

“I c-called him," Hamilton said, and stumbled, losing his supporting grip on the wall. Washington was quick to grasp his arm. It was trembling.

"Come on, come over here, sit yourself down,” Washington said quickly, locating a nearby bench and pulling Hamilton in its direction.

"OK," Hamilton said meekly, staggering over. Lafayette came to grab his other arm to help him. Hamilton half-collapsed on to the bench and then sat with his head between his knees for a few seconds. Lafayette, to his credit, kept quiet, but he looked almost as pale as Hamilton and was wringing his hands.

“Are you hurt? What…? Is...?" Washington almost hesitated to ask how Laurens was, for fear he'd receive a devastating answer.

“I’m not hurt, the blood’s his. They… They didn't say how long he'd be in theatre," Hamilton said hollowly, head still bowed. "They just kind of... rushed him off. But I'm listed as his emergency contact, so they'll let me know if there's any news." His voice broke again. Washington reached out a hesitant hand to rub his back. He shot a quick enquiring look at Lafayette, wondering if he'd got more of the story.

Lafayette exhaled shakily and rubbed at his face. “John… He was walking home, on his own. He saw that he was being followed, so he calls Alex, but by the time Alex found him, they had stolen from him and left. One of them had a knife."

“They got him… here…” Hamilton said hoarsely, indicating his abdomen. “Fuck, if I'd got there sooner..."

“They would have attacked you as well, mon ami, and no one could have called the ambulance," Lafayette pointed out.

"Have you spoken to the police?" Washington asked.

Hamilton nodded. "Yeah, they got here not long after we did. I've got to give a statement, but they said it could wait. I think they're waiting to see if…If… ” He gave another one of those dreadful whines, muffled into his sleeve, but his point was clear even without words. They were waiting to see if Laurens made it or not.

"Where did it happen?" Washington asked, thinking of the area around Hamilton's house with a sinking feeling.

"Beaufort Street," Hamilton murmured. "We walk through there all the time, back from campus, it could have... it could have been any one of us." He tried to wipe the blood off his shaking hands on to his jeans, with little success.

"Is there a relatives room where you could go and wait?" Washington said gently. "You could wash."

Hamilton shook his head rapidly without looking up. "Don't want to. I hate hospitals."

"All right," Washington said mildly, and continued to rub his back. He shot another glance at Lafayette, who had started crying quietly, his head in his hands. He wanted to offer some kind of comfort, but he knew it would be hollow. He rummaged in his pocket for a tissue and offered it to Hamilton, who nodded gratefully and managed to clean his hands a little better. When he was done, he held it clenched in his quivering fingers. Washington cautiously reached over, careful not to startle him, and took it from his grasp. He coughed slightly.

“Do you mind if I…?”

Hamilton glanced up at him, and Washington indicated the smear on his cheek.

“Oh, yeah, thanks, I…”

Washington motioned for him to move his head a little, and wiped it off as best as he could. Hamilton didn’t meet his eyes, staring fixedly into the middle distance, but he muttered his thanks once Washington had finished. Lafayette reached out his left hand to him, which Hamilton took gratefully in his right.

"Did you manage to get through to Herc?" Lafayette said hoarsely after a while. Hamilton shook his head.

“No, I reckon he must be still on the plane.” There was a short silence. “Herc’s our other housemate, he’s visiting family in Nigeria,” Hamilton said in an aside to Washington, who nodded in comprehension.

They sat for a long time. The hustle and bustle of the hospital went on around them, but no one came over to disturb them. Gradually Hamilton’s hands stopped trembling. After about half an hour, Lafayette got up. “I am going to try and ask how he is,” he said briskly.

“Laf, they probably won’t tell you anything, he probably isn’t even out of surgery yet,” Hamilton said dully. Lafayette shrugged.

“It is worth a try, and better than sitting out here. Do you want to come?”

Hamilton shook his head, Lafayette nodded, and left. Washington and Hamilton continued to sit in silence, only occasionally broken by Hamilton’s ragged breathing.

“Sorry, I know it’s… stupid, sitting out here,” Hamilton said, after a long while. He had started picking the green paint off the aging bench. “You can really go home, you know, I’m sorry, it’s not as if there’s anything you can do.”

“It’s fine, son, I want to stay,” Washington said. Hamilton looked so young and vulnerable and distressed that the thought of leaving him seemed outrageous. “You might get cold, sitting out here though.”

Hamilton shrugged. “Hate hospitals. Rather be cold.”

Washington opened his mouth to ask why, but then closed it again. Hamilton, however, seemed to hear the unasked question.

“My, er… When my mum and I…” He took in a shaky exhale, and continued addressing the floor, shredding a particularly large strip of paint. “I was twelve. We were both in hospital for ages. TB. It was really bad.” He wiped his nose with his sleeve. “And she got pneumonia, as well, while she was in there, and it killed her.”

Washington didn’t have anything to say to that, so he just put an arm around Hamilton’s shoulder. He had feared Hamilton was shivering and with the physical contact it became undeniable.

“I know it’s irrational, and I know it’s the best place for…” Hamilton’s voice stuttered. “For John to be. But I don’t want to go in, if I can help it.”

“That’s OK,” Washington said simply. “Look, when Lafayette comes out, maybe we can go and sit in my car. At least it will be warmer, all right?”

Hamilton nodded. “OK.” His voice cracked again. “I’m… I’m sorry about dinner, and now I’m keeping you here as well, Martha will be…”

“Martha will be fine,” Washington insisted. “She said she was itching to stay at work a bit longer with her case files anyway.”

Hamilton nodded again, and swiped at his face in a way that told Washington he was crying again, even if he couldn’t see his face. “Sir, what if…? Oh God, what am I going to do if he…?” He gave a strangled sob.

Washington paused and rubbed his shoulder. Luckily he was spared the embarrassment of an empty platitude by the reappearance of Lafayette. Hamilton jerked his head up suddenly at the sight of him. “Did you…? Did you get anything? Did they say…?”

“No,” Lafayette said quietly. “But I got some chocolate from the vending machine, and some tissues.” He passed a handful to Hamilton. “Looks like we are in for a long wait, still.”

“I was saying to Hamilton that maybe we could go and wait in my car,” Washington said quietly. “It’d at least be warmer.”

Lafayette nodded, and helped Hamilton up off the bench. Washington levered himself to his feet - he had got stiff himself sitting in the same position for so long. The trek across the car park back to Washington’s car seemed to take forever, but once they were inside, switching on the heating for a bit was worth it. Hamilton and Lafayette sat in the back, huddled together. Lafayette rested his chin on Hamilton’s head and started stroking a hand through his hair.

“Is it all right if I put the radio on?” Washington asked quietly, and the two of them nodded. It was more to give them some privacy than anything else, but it was nice to have something to break the silence a little. He could faintly hear Lafayette murmuring to Hamilton in French under the music.

A couple of hours later, when Washington had begun to get worried about draining the car battery, Hamilton’s phone suddenly rang.

The atmosphere in the car instantly changed. Hamilton, who had been half-lying down over Lafayette, apparently utterly exhausted, jerked upright with a start. Washington switched the radio off immediately.

“Hello?” Hamilton said urgently.

“Yes, this is Alex Hamilton. Yeah.”

Washington, twisted around in his seat, could see tears beginning to glisten in Hamilton’s eyes. He couldn’t help but hold his breath. The suspense was horrible.

“Oh-my-god,” Hamilton suddenly said, in a single rushed exhale. “Oh God, is he’s OK?”

Washington saw Lafayette sit straighter in suspense.that is where it went wrong. Hamilton began to shake, tears flowing down his cheeks again. Washington jerked up to attention. “What’s wrong?” He questioned. Through heavy, laboured breathing, Hamilton asked “how long has he been gone?”

He closed the phone and looked Lafayette dead in the eye. 

“He’s gone”

Lafayette shakily reaches out to to hold Hamilton. The stayed I. Each other’s embrace for a while. 

“Boys?” Washington tentatively asked, “would you like me to drive you home?”

And with a nod fromHamilton, Washington set course to their home. 

**Author's Note:**

> Sooo guuuyyyysss what did ya think? Do you guys like longer or shorter chapter sizes? (For future refrence?)


End file.
